


But I Don’t Dance the Dance of Seduction

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Tango Series [1]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Het, Jokes, Kissing, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is all the catering guy's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Don’t Dance the Dance of Seduction

This is all the catering guy’s fault. If the catering guy hadn’t accidentally dumped red sauce down her twin-set, she wouldn’t have scrounged through wardrobe and found the only thing that fit was a halter dress, and she wouldn’t be wearing a halter dress and sandals in Jack’s office.

Yes. The way that the two of them are standing around, looking at each other, is totally the catering guy’s fault.

“Oh my god, this is weird,” she says. Because it’s weird. It’s so weird, because Jack Donaghy is looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Say something.”

“Lemon, are you aware that you are completely capable of looking like a woman with grace and style?” he manages to say. Okay, so it’s definitely Jack, and not his Cylon double. Though if Jack were the last Cylon, it would make _so much sense._ Of course, that would just end with Mary McDonnell screwing the hell out of Jack before her classy and understated death, and Liz totally misses Battlestar Galactica.

“Yeah, well, you just watch,” Liz snaps. “I can only manage grace and style for thirty second intervals before fatal lapses into graceless geekdom again.”

“Perhaps if you invested in a dance coach, they could last a full ninety,” Jack suggests without raising an eyebrow. She laughs. Jack wasn’t witness to the time Jenna convinced her to take lessons with her at the Arthur Murray uptown in Chicago. She’d sprained her ankle, knee, and shoulder.

It had been a fully awesome experience made even more awesome by Jenna shoving her cleavage at the paramedic the whole way to the hospital.

“I don’t dance,” Liz says hastily, realizing she’s zoned out. “Well, not that kind of dancing. I do funky dancing. The kind you’re talking about…”

“Stand up,” Jack says, standing up and holding his arms out. “Just because you tripped over that ex-high school cheerleader who was trying to seduce Maroney in Chicago doesn’t mean that you are incapable of learning grown-up forms of dance.”

He knows everything. Liz thinks he has Jonathan create elaborate files on them for his bedtime reading. He probably finds it entertaining and not an invasion of privacy.

“When I break your toe, please remember I told you so,” Liz tells him, crossing her eyes at him slightly. “Where do I put my hands?”

“One on your shoulder, the other in my hand,” Jack says patiently. What, like she asked him to teach her how to dance? Or anything. He gives her confusing signals. One day, she’s supposed to spend eighteen hours a day working on the set, the next day, she needs to develop a flawless personal life. One day, her people are Philistines from a backward village; the next, he wants to be a Lemon. He needs to settle on a stance on her. “Relax.”

“Which dance is this?” she asks. Because they’re standing a little too close for the waltz.

“The tango,” Jack says, as if this should be obvious. Or appropriate for the boss to even be attempting. “Every woman alive should know how to do the tango. At least the ones who it will benefit.”

“Okay, then,” Liz replies. So not okay! And yet she was letting him teach her anyway, because she was absolutely insane. Yes. That had to be it. “Do you teach any of your guy minions to tango?”

“That would be bizarre and queer,” Jack says. “It’s really not that difficult. Right foot back. Good. Bring the other foot to meet it and then go left with it.”

To Liz’s surprise, she can actually do it. After only six tries. Seriously. Six tries. That’s like the first time for someone who isn’t an awkward non-girl person. She even grins and claps a little when she gets it.

“See, you didn’t break anything. Though I’m going to have a bruise on my hand from your frantic attempts to lead despite my instructions,” Jack says, sounding satisfied. “Now let’s try it to music.”

“No, don’t be silly. Don’t you have dinner with Fred Thompson’s wife or something?” Liz says, suddenly desperate to get out of the situation before it gets unfixably weird. “Or the annual meeting of the oven programming guys and subsidiary lords of evil?”

“Lemon, you have to dance to tempo to say you can actually dance the tango,” Jack says in his ‘don’t be stupid, you ridiculous peon’ voice. “Otherwise, it would be like claiming to have a deep appreciation of the works of Mozart when you’d only listened to _The Magic Flute_ in third grade.”

He is such an incomparable douche, and he so enjoys showing Liz why. Liz makes sure he sees her rolling her eyes, and stands there, waiting for him to find music.

“Stand up straight, Lemon. And now…” and of course, that’s when the music kicks in, she swears to god he sold his soul to Satan for diabolic timing, “The dance of seduction.”

“Okay, then,” Liz says, dutifully taking his hand. To her surprise, Jack actually pulls her in like he means it.

Shit, she owes Frank money. She had bet him fifty bucks Jack wore Old Spice, and he doesn’t. In fact, he kind of smells good. Like class, money, and not Old Spice.

“And…one, two…” Jack murmurs.

They do the basic figure, and it’s not awful, but Liz stumbles on the cross, so Jack stops them.

“Again,” Jack says. “Look at me, Lemon. The whole point of this dance is to convince a man that you could cook his loins for breakfast, not to make him hope they start playing Snoop Dogg so you can crump with your friends and he can scoop up the hot one.”

“Okay, okay, but I still say you wouldn’t be doing this with a guy protege,” Liz says sourly.

“And I still say that you should invest in a briefcase you didn’t buy at Target, but let’s not ruin the moment with petty disagreement,” Jack replies. “Again.”

They do it again. This time she muffs up the first step. So it’s again. And this time they do it right, but Jack shakes his head.

“The dance of seduction, Lemon. Let’s go for seduction this time,” he insists. “Imagine I’m a mid-thirties neurologist named David who has a piping hot bag of Philly cheese steak waiting for you in the bedroom along with the DVD of Spiderman 2.”

Seriously, whoever compiled the creepy dossiers is amazingly thorough. Liz lifts her chin and grabs Jack, making sure that she’s looking freaking sexy, damn it, because probably by now, Jenna has had a nervous breakdown, or Tracy and Frank are racing roaches across the stage or something equally apocalyptic.

Jack’s eyes are on hers, and Liz could almost blush, because damn, he’s so into it that she has a sketch idea about Inappropriate Always Method Guy, and it’s also kind of, um, sexy. And she does this hip-swish thing, like she’s into him too, or like this is a movie, and not some weird employee hazing/confidence builder.

And then they move back, and there’s the sexual energy just growing, like, holy crap, why is Jack always right about everything? If this were a real guy moving with Liz like this, her panties would be gone, just kicked to the curb, and holy crap, are they still going after that first figure? Did he just stroke her back seductively?

Did she just lean back and then grab Jack’s face? Oh, crap. Either she’s going to get a really big raise for being the best follower ever, a backhanded reprimand for getting too into character and proving the secret crush theory, or…he’s going to kiss the inside of her arm and slide his hand down her back right to her ass.

Oh. Crap. Crap. Crap. He needs to make fun of her RIGHT NOW, or she’s going to lean forward and do one of those brush-y kisses that…yep, there she goes. Did she just use tongue, too? Oh, crap, that was her tongue, this is definitely a gag too far.

“Maybe we can…” Liz manages to stammer out. Stop. She can dance at tempo now, so it’s time to go back to the set. Now.

“Oh, definitely, yes,” Jack agrees, before lifting her up and pulling her in for an actual kiss of the long, soulful, tongues engaged and arms-wrapped-around-necks kind. “You ridiculously elfish little sexpot, you.”

Oh, thank god, Jack has just woken up her brain, which was totally drugged out on all the sexy just then and thinking crazy thoughts. Crazy, crazy thoughts, like to grind on him and then work on the belt.

“I thought I wasn’t your type,” Liz says, tamping down on the desperate hormones, which are screaming _Did you get a feel for his tongue? He can be our type for twenty minutes!_

“As Mae West said, sometimes the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it,” Jack said, actually nuzzling her neck. “There’s something about you. You’re so gloriously weird. And when you let go of your whole jaded indie freak aura that you cling to like a blanket, you’re quite attractive.”

It’s always worse when he tries to compliment her. Always. That’s good for everything but her desperate hormones.

“And you’re Mr. Normal?” Liz asked. “Remember, I was at Kenneth’s party, too. You tried to hump a cupcake.”

“Damn you, Liz,” Jack said, looking into her eyes again. “Somehow, your attempts to ruin a passionate moment only make you more irresistible.”

“You really think if we go at it on your desk, things will work out?” Liz asks, because honestly, she’s not made of stone. And she’s always wondered if it was good when you did it on a desk.

He seizes her by the waist, and there’s his tongue again. It’s good tongue. Not drooly or ticklish. Also, this is way, way less gross than she could have ever dreamed up. Like, yeah. She can get into making out with Jack.

Jack pulls away from her mouth and tilts his head. “Why would we go at it on my desk when my couch is right over there?” he asks. “But yes. I guarantee things will work out just fine if you put your legs around my waist and come to the couch with me right now.”

Okay, when he puts it like that, she can definitely get into it.


End file.
